They were a flock o' pretty birds,_Golden Numbers: A Book of Verse for Youth

Right wondrous to be seen;

The weddin'eers they looked at them

Whilst walking on the green.

These birds flew up frae bush and tree,

And, lighted on the ha';

And, when the wedding-train cam' forth,

Flew down amang them a'.

The storks they seized the boldest men,

That they could not fight or flee;

The swans they bound the bridegroom fast

Unto a green aik tree.

They flew around the bride-maidens,

Around the bride's own head;

And, wi' the twinkling o' an ee,

The bride and they were fled.

There's ancient men at weddings been

For eighty years or more;

But siccan a curious wedding-day

They never saw before.

For naething could the company do,

Nor naething could they say;

But they saw a flock o' pretty birds

That took their bride away.

OLD BALLAD.

_Chevy-Chace_

God prosper long our noble king,

Our lives and safeties all;

A woful hunting once there did

In Chevy-Chace befall.

To drive the deer with hound and horn

Earl Percy took his way;

The child may rue that is unborn

The hunting of that day.

The stout Earl of Northumberland

A vow to God did make,

His pleasure in the Scottish woods

Three summer days to take,--

The chiefest harts in Chevy-Chace

To kill and bear away.

These tidings to Earl Douglas came,

In Scotland where he lay;

Who sent Earl Percy present word

He would prevent his sport.

The English earl, not fearing that,

Did to the woods resort

With fifteen hundred bowmen bold,

All chosen men of might,

Who knew full well in time of need

To aim their shafts aright.

The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran

To chase the fallow deer;

On Monday they began to hunt

Ere daylight did appear;

And long before high noon they had

A hundred fat bucks slain;

Then having dined, the drovers went

To rouse the deer again.

The bowmen mustered on the hills,

Well able to endure;

And all their rear, with special care,

That day was guarded sure.

The hounds ran swiftly through the woods,

The nimble deer to take,

That with their cries the hills and dales

An echo shrill did make.

Lord Percy to the quarry went,

To view the slaughtered deer;

Quoth he, "Earl Douglas promised

This day to meet me here;

"But if I thought he would not come,

No longer would I stay;"

With that a brave young gentleman

Thus to the Earl did say:

"Lo, yonder doth Earl Douglas come,

His men in armor bright;

Full twenty hundred Scottish spears

All marching in our sight;

"All men of pleasant Teviotdale,

Fast by the river Tweed;"

"Then cease your sports," Earl Percy said,

"And take your bows with speed;

"And now with me, my countrymen,

Your courage forth advance;

For never was there champion yet,

In Scotland or in France,

"That ever did on horseback come,

But if my hap it were,

I durst encounter man for man,

With him to break a spear."

Earl Douglas on his milk-white steed,

Most like a baron bold,

Rode foremost of his company,

Whose armor shone like gold.

"Show me," said he, "whose men you be,

That hunt so boldly here,

That, without my consent, do chase

And kill my fallow-deer."

The first man that did answer make,

Was noble Percy he--

Who said, "We list not to declare,

Nor show whose men we be:

"Yet will we spend our dearest blood

Thy chiefest harts to slay."

Then Douglas swore a solemn oath,

And thus in rage did say:

"Ere thus I will out-braved be,

One of us two shall die;

I know thee well, an earl thou art--

Lord Percy, so am I.

"But trust me, Percy, pity it were,

And great offence, to kill

Any of these our guiltless men,

For they have done no ill.

"Let thou and I the battle try,

And set our men aside."

"Accursed be he," Earl Percy said,

"By whom this is denied."

Then stepped a gallant squire forth,

Witherington was his name,

Who said, "I would not have it told

To Henry, our king, for shame,

"That e'er my captain fought on foot,

And I stood looking on.

You two be earls," said Witherington,

"And I a squire alone;

"I'll do the best that do I may,

While I have power to stand;

While I have power to wield my sword,

I'll fight with heart and hand."

Our English archers bent their bows--

Their hearts were good and true;

At the first flight of arrows sent,

Full fourscore Scots they slew.

Yet stays Earl Douglas on the bent,

As Chieftain stout and good;

As valiant Captain, all unmoved,

The shock he firmly stood.

His host he parted had in three,

As leader ware and tried;

And soon his spearmen on their foes

Bore down on every side.

Throughout the English archery

They dealt full many a wound;

But still our valiant Englishmen

All firmly kept their ground.

And throwing straight their bows away,

They grasped their swords so bright;

And now sharp blows, a heavy shower,

On shields and helmets light.

They closed full fast on every side--

No slackness there was found;

And many a gallant gentleman

Lay gasping on the ground.

In truth, it was a grief to see

How each one chose his spear,

And how the blood out of their breasts

Did gush like water clear.

At last these two stout earls did meet;

Like captains of great might,

Like lions wode, they laid on lode,

And made a cruel fight.

They fought until they both did sweat,

With swords of tempered steel,

Until the blood, like drops of rain,

They trickling down did feel.

"Yield thee, Lord Percy," Douglas said;

"In faith I will thee bring

Where thou shalt high advanced be

By James, our Scottish king.

"Thy ransom I will freely give,

And this report of thee,

Thou art the most courageous knight

That ever I did see."

"No, Douglas," saith Earl Percy then,

"Thy proffer I do scorn;

I will not yield to any Scot

That ever yet was born."

With that there came an arrow keen

Out of an English bow,

Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart,

A deep and deadly blow;

Who never spake more words than these:

"Fight on, my merry men all;

For why, my life is at an end;

Lord Percy sees my fall."

Then leaving life, Earl Percy took

The dead man by the hand;

And said, "Earl Douglas, for thy life

Would I had lost my land!

"In truth, my very heart doth bleed

With sorrow for thy sake;

For sure a more redoubted knight

Mischance did never take."

A knight amongst the Scots there was

Who saw Earl Douglas die,

Who straight in wrath did vow revenge

Upon the Earl Percy.

Sir Hugh Montgomery was he called,

Who, with a spear full bright,

Well mounted on a gallant steed,

Ran fiercely through the fight;

And past the English archers all,

Without a dread or fear;

And through Earl Percy's body then

He thrust his hateful spear;

With such vehement force and might

He did his body gore,

The staff ran through the other side

A large cloth-yard and more.

So thus did both these nobles die,

Whose courage none could stain.

An English archer then perceived

The noble Earl was slain.

He had a bow bent in his hand,

Made of a trusty tree;

An arrow of a cloth-yard long

To the hard head haled he.

Against Sir Hugh Montgomery

So right the shaft he set,

The gray goose wing that was thereon

In his heart's blood was wet.

This fight did last from break of day

Till setting of the sun:

For when they rung the evening-bell,

The battle scarce was done.

With stout Earl Percy there was slain

Sir John of Egerton,

Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John,

Sir James, that bold baron.

And with Sir George and stout Sir James,

Both knights of good account,

Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slain,

Whose prowess did surmount.

For Witherington needs must I wail

As one in doleful dumps;

For when his legs were smitten off,

He fought upon his stumps.

And with Earl Douglas there was slain

Sir Hugh Montgomery,

Sir Charles Murray, that from the field,

One foot would never flee.

Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff, too--

His sister's son was he;

Sir David Lamb, so well esteemed,

But saved he could not be.

And the Lord Maxwell in like case

Did with Earl Douglas die:

Of twenty hundred Scottish spears,

Scarce fifty-five did fly.

Of fifteen hundred Englishmen,

Went home but fifty-three;

The rest on Chevy-Chace were slain,

Under the greenwood tree.

Next day did many widows come,

Their husbands to bewail;

They washed their wounds in brinish tears,

But all would not prevail.

Their bodies, bathed in purple blood,

They bore with them away;

They kissed them dead a thousand times,

Ere they were clad in clay.

The news was brought to Edinburgh,

Where Scotland's king did reign,

That brave Earl Douglas suddenly

Was with an arrow slain:

"Oh heavy news," King James did say;

"Scotland can witness be

I have not any captain more

Of such account as he."

Like tidings to King Henry came

Within as short a space,

That Percy of Northumberland

Was slain in Chevy-Chace:

"Now God be with him," said our king,

"Since 'twill no better be;

I trust I have within my realm

Five hundred as good as he:

"Yet shall not Scots or Scotland say

But I will vengeance take:

I'll be revenged on them all,

For brave Earl Percy's sake."

This vow full well the king performed

After at Humbledown;

In one day fifty knights were slain,

With lords of high renown;

And of the rest, of small account,

Did many hundreds die:

Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chace,

Made by the Earl Percy.

God save the king, and bless this land,

With plenty, joy and peace;

And grant, henceforth, that foul debate

'Twixt noblemen may cease!

OLD BALLAD.

_Hynde Horn_

"Oh, it's Hynde Horn fair, and it's Hynde Horn free;

Oh, where were you born, and in what countrie?"

"In a far distant countrie I was born;

But of home and friends I am quite forlorn."

Oh, it's seven long years he served the king,

But wages from him he ne'er got a thing:

Oh, it's seven long years he served, I ween,

And all for love of the king's daughter Jean.

Oh, he gave to his love a silver wand,

Her sceptre of rule over fair Scotland;

With three singing laverocks set thereon,

For to mind her of him when he was gone.

And his love gave to him a gay gold ring,

With three shining diamonds set therein;

Oh, his love gave to him this gay gold ring,

Of virtue and value above all thing;

Saying--"While the diamonds do keep their hue,

You will know that my love holds fast and true;

But when the diamonds grow pale and wan,

I'll be dead, or wed to another man."

Then the sails were spread, and away sail'd he;

Oh, he sail'd away to a far countrie;

And when he had been seven years to sea,

Hynde Horn look'd to see how his ring might be.

But when Hynde Horn look'd the diamonds upon,

Oh, he saw that they were both pale and wan;

And at once he knew, from their alter'd hue,

That his love was dead or had proved untrue.

Oh, the sails were spread, and away sail'd he

Back over the sea to his own countrie;

Then he left the ship when it came to land,

And he met an auld beggar upon the strand.

"What news, thou auld beggar man?" said he;

"For full seven years I've been over the sea."

Then the auld man said--"The strangest of all

Is the curious wedding in our king's hall.

"For there's a king's daughter, came frae the wast,

Has been married to him these nine days past;

But unto him a wife the bride winna be,

For love of Hynde Horn, far over the sea."

"Now, auld man, give to me your begging weed,

And I will give to thee my riding steed;

And, auld man, give to me your staff of tree,

And my scarlet cloak I will give to thee.

"And you must teach me the auld beggar's role,

As he goes his rounds, and receives his dole."

The auld man he did as young Hynde Horn said,

And taught him the way to beg for his bread.

Then Hynde Horn bent him to his staff of tree,

And to the king's palace away hobbled he;

And when he arrived at the king's palace gate,

To the porter he thus his petition did state:

"Good porter, I pray, for Saints Peter and Paul,

And for sake of the Saviour who died for us all,

For one cup of wine, and one bit of bread,

To an auld man with travel and hunger bestead.

"And ask the fair bride, for the sake of Hynde Horn,

To hand them to one so sadly forlorn."

Then the porter for pity the message convey'd,

And told the fair bride all the beggar man said.

And when she did hear it, she tripp'd down the stair,

And in her fair hands did lovingly bear

A cup of red wine, and a farle of cake,

To give the old man, for loved Hynde Horn's sake.

And when she came to where Hynde Horn did stand,

With joy he did take the cup from her hand;

Then pledged the fair bride, the cup out did drain,

Dropp'd in it the ring, and return'd it again.

"Oh, found you that ring by sea or on land,

Or got you that ring off a dead man's hand?"

"Oh, I found not that ring by sea or on land,

But I got that ring from a fair lady's hand.

"As a pledge of true love she gave it to me,

Full seven years ago, as I sail'd o'er the sea;

But now that the diamonds are chang'd in their hue,

I know that my love has to me proved untrue."

"Oh, I will cast off my gay costly gown,

And follow thee on from town unto town,

And I will take the gold combs from my hair,

And follow my true love for ever mair."

"You need not cast off your gay costly gown,

To follow me on from town unto town;

You need not take the gold combs from your hair,

For Hynde Horn has gold enough, and to spare."

He stood up erect, let his beggar weed fall,

And shone there the foremost and noblest of all;

Then the bridegrooms were chang'd, and the lady re-wed,

To Hynde Horn thus come back, like one from the dead.

OLD BALLAD.

_Glenlogie_

There was monie a braw noble

Came to our Queen's ha';

But the bonnie Glenlogie

Was the flower of them a'.

And the young Ladye Jeanie,

Sae gude and sae fair,

She fancied Glenlogie

Aboon a' that were there.

She speired at his footman,

That ran by his side,

His name, and his sirname,

And where he did bide.

"He bides at Glenlogie,

When he is at hame;

He's of the gay Gordons,

And George is his name."

She wrote to Glenlogie,

To tell him her mind:

"My love is laid on you,

Oh, will you prove kind?"

He turn'd about lightly,

As the Gordons do a':

"I thank you, fair Ladye,

But I'm promis'd awa."

She call'd on her maidens

Her jewels to take,

And to lay her in bed,

For her heart it did break.

"Glenlogie! Glenlogie!

"Glenlogie!" said she;

"If I getna Glenlogie,

I'm sure I will dee."

"Oh, hold your tongue, daughter,

And weep na sae sair;

For you'll get Drumfindlay,

His father's young heir."

"Oh, hold your tongue, father,

And let me alane;

If I getna Glenlogie,

I'll never wed ane."

Then her father's old chaplain--

A man of great skill--

He wrote to Glenlogie,

The cause of this ill;

And her father, he sent off

This letter with speed,

By a trusty retainer,

Who rode his best steed.

The first line that he read,

A light laugh gave he;

The next line that he read,

The tear fill'd each e'e:

"Oh, what a man am I,

That a leal heart should break?

Or that sic a fair maid

Should die for my sake?

"Go, saddle my horse,

Go, saddle him soon,

Go, saddle the swiftest

E'er rode frae the toun."

But ere it was saddled,

And brought to the door,

Glenlogie was on the road

Three miles or more.

When he came to her father's,

Great grief there was there;

There was weepin' and wailin',

And sabbin' full sair.

Oh, pale and wan was she

When Glenlogie gaed in;

But she grew red and rosy

When Glenlogie gaed ben.

Then out spake her father,

With tears in each e'e:

"You're welcome, Glenlogie,

You're welcome to me."

And out spake her mother:

"You're welcome," said she;

"You're welcome, Glenlogie,

Your Jeanie to see."

"Oh, turn, Ladye Jeanie,

Turn round to this side,

And I'll be the bridegroom,

And you'll be the bride."

Oh, it was a blythe wedding,

As ever was seen;

And bonnie Jeanie Melville

Was scarcely sixteen.

OLD BALLAD.

INTERLEAVES

_Life Lessons_

_"They also serve who only stand and wait."_

MILTON.

_"Small service is true service while it lasts."_

WORDSWORTH.

_"Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,

As the swift seasons roll!"_

HOLMES.

_"When Duty whispers low 'Thou must,'

The youth replies, 'I can.'"_

EMERSON.

_"Thou must be true thyself,

If thou the truth wouldst teach."_

BONAR.

_"I am content with what I have,

Little be it, or much."_

BUNYAN.

_"As one lamp lights another, nor grows less,

So nobleness enkindleth nobleness."_

LOWELL.

_"Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws

Makes that and th' action fine."_

HERBERT.

"_This above all--to thine own self be true;

And it must follow, as the night the day,

Thou canst not then be false to any man._"

SHAKESPEARE.

XVI

LIFE LESSONS

_Life_

* * * *

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time;--

Footprints, that perhaps another,

Sailing o'er life's solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labor and to wait.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

_From the "Psalm of Life."_

_In a Child's Album_

Small service is true service while it lasts;

Of humblest friends, bright creature! scorn not one;

The Daisy, by the shadow that it casts,

Protects the lingering dew-drop from the sun.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

_To-Day_

So here hath been dawning

Another blue day:

Think, wilt thou let it

Slip useless away.

Out of Eternity

This new day was born;

Into Eternity,

At night, will return.

Behold it aforetime

No eye ever did;

So soon it for ever

From all eyes is hid.

Here hath been dawning

Another blue day:

Think, wilt thou let it

Slip useless away.

THOMAS CARLYLE.

_The Noble Nature_

It is not growing like a tree

In bulk doth make Man better be;

Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,

To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere:

A lily of a day

Is fairer far in May,

Although it fall and die that night,--

It was the plant and flower of Light:

In small proportions we just beauties see,

And in short measures life may perfect be.

BEN JONSON.

_Forbearance_

Hast thou named all the birds without a gun?

Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk?

At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse?

Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust?

And loved so well a high behavior,

In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained,

Nobility more nobly to repay?

O, be my friend, and teach me to be thine!

RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

_The Chambered Nautilus_

This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,

Sails the unshadowed main,--

The venturous bark that flings

On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings

In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings,

And coral reefs lie bare,

Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl;

Wrecked is the ship of pearl!

And every chambered cell,

Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,

As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,

Before thee lies revealed,--

Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed!

Year after year beheld the silent toil

That spread his lustrous coil;

Still, as the spiral grew,

He left the past year's dwelling for the new,

Stole with soft step its shining archway through,

Built up its idle door,

Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.

Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,

Child of the wandering sea,

Cast from her lap, forlorn!

From thy dead lips a clearer note is born

Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn!

While on mine ear it rings,

Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:--

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,

As the swift seasons roll!

Leave thy low-vaulted past!

Let each new temple, nobler than the last,

Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,

Till thou at length art free,

Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

_Duty_

So nigh is grandeur to our dust,

So near is God to man;

When Duty whispers low "Thou must,"

The youth replies, "I can."

RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

_On His Blindness_

When I consider how my light is spent

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,

And that one Talent which is death to hide,

Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present

My true account, lest he returning chide,--

Doth God exact day-labor, light denied,

I fondly ask:--But Patience, to prevent

That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need

Either man's work or his own gifts; who best

Bear his mild yoke, they serve Him best: His State

Is Kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,

And post o'er Land and Ocean without rest:--

They also serve who only stand and wait."

JOHN MILTON.

_Sir Launfal and the Leper_

As Sir Launfal made morn through the darksome gate,

He was ware of a leper, crouched by the same,

Who begged with his hand and moaned as he sate;

And a loathing over Sir Launfal came;

The sunshine went out of his soul with a thrill,

The flesh 'neath his armor did shrink and crawl,

And midway its leap his heart stood still

Like a frozen waterfall;

For this man, so foul and bent of stature,

Rasped harshly against his dainty nature,

And seemed the one blot on the summer morn,--

So he tossed him a piece of gold in scorn.

The leper raised not the gold from the dust:

"Better to me the poor man's crust,

Better the blessing of the poor,

Though I turn me empty from his door;

That is no true alms which the hand can hold;

He gives nothing but worthless gold

Who gives from a sense of duty;

But he who gives a slender mite,

And gives to that which is out of sight,

That thread of the all-sustaining Beauty

Which runs through all and doth all unite,--

The hand cannot clasp the whole of his alms,

The heart outstretches its eager palms,

For a god goes with it and makes it store

To the soul that was starving in darkness before."

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

_From "The Vision of Sir Launfal."_

_Opportunity_

This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream:--

There spread a cloud of dust along a plain;

And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged

A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords

Shocked upon swords and shields. A prince's banner

Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes.

A craven hung along the battle's edge,

And thought, "Had I a sword of keener steel--

That blue blade that the king's son bears,--but this

Blunt thing!" he snapt and flung it from his hand,

And lowering crept away and left the field.

Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead,

And weaponless, and saw the broken sword,

Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand,

And ran and snatched it, and with battle-shout

Lifted afresh he hewed his enemy down,

And saved a great cause that heroic day.

EDWARD ROWLAND SILL.

_Abou Ben Adhem and the Angel_

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)

Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,

And saw, within the moonlight in his room,

Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,

An Angel writing in a book of gold:--

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,

And to the Presence in the room he said,

"What writest thou?"--The Vision raised its head,

And with a look made of all sweet accord

Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."

"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"

Replied the Angel. Abou spoke more low,

But cheerily still, and said, "I pray thee, then,

Write me as one that loves his fellow men."

The Angel wrote and vanished. The next night

It came again with a great wakening light,

And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,

And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

LEIGH HUNT.

_Be True_

Thou must be true thyself,

If thou the truth wouldst teach;

Thy soul must overflow, if thou

Another's soul wouldst reach!

It needs the overflow of heart

To give the lips full speech.

Think truly, and thy thoughts

Shall the world's famine feed;

Speak truly, and each word of thine

Shall be a fruitful seed;

Live truly, and thy life shall be

A great and noble creed.

HORATIO BONAR.

_The Shepherd Boy Sings in the Valley of Humiliation_

He that is down needs fear no fall,

He that is low, no pride;

He that is humble ever shall

Have God to be his guide.

I am content with what I have,

Little be it or much:

And, Lord, contentment still I crave,

Because Thou savest such.

Fullness to such a burden is

That go on pilgrimage:

Here little, and hereafter bliss,

Is best from age to age.

JOHN BUNYAN.

_A Turkish Legend_

A certain pasha, dead five thousand years,

Once from his harem fled in sudden tears,

And had this sentence on the city's gate

Deeply engraven, "Only God is great."

So these four words above the city's noise

Hung like the accents of an angel's voice.

And evermore from the high barbican,

Saluted each returning caravan.

Lost is that city's glory. Every gust

Lifts, with crisp leaves, the unknown pasha's dust,

And all is ruin, save one wrinkled gate

Whereon is written, "Only God is great."

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.

_Elegy written in a Country Churchyard_

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,

The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,

And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,

And all the air a solemn stillness holds,

Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,

And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds:

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r,

The moping owl does to the moon complain

Of such as, wand'ring near her secret bow'r,

Molest her ancient solitary reign.

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,

Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap,

Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,

The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed,

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,

Or busy housewife ply her evening care:

No children run to lisp their sire's return,

Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke:

How jocund did they drive their team afield!

How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;

Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile,

The short and simple annals of the poor.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,

Await alike th' inevitable hour--

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,

If Mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise,

Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault,

The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

Can storied urn or animated bust

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?

Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust,

Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death?

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;

Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd,

Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre.

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,

Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;

Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage,

And froze the genial current of the soul.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene

The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear:

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,

And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast

The little tyrant of his fields withstood,

Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,

Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.

Th' applause of list'ning senates to command,

The threats of pain and ruin to despise,

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,

And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes--

Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined;

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,

And shut the gates of mercy on mankind;

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,

To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,

Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride

With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,

Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray;

Along the cool sequester'd vale of life

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect

Some frail memorial still erected nigh,

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd,

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse,

The place of fame and elegy supply:

And many a holy text around she strews,

That teach the rustic moralist to die.

For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey,

This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd,

Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,

Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind?

On some fond breast the parting soul relies,

Some pious drops the closing eye requires;

E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,

E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead,

Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;

If chance, by lonely contemplation led,

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,

"Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn

Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,

To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

"There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,

That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,

His listless length at noontide would he stretch,

And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

"Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,

Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove:

Now drooping, woful-wan, like one forlorn,

Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.

"One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,

Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree;

Another came; nor yet beside the rill,

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he:

"The next, with dirges due in sad array,

Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne.--

Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay

Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."

THE EPITAPH

_Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth

A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown;

Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,

And Melancholy mark'd him for her own._

_Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,

Heav'n did a recompense as largely send:

He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear,

He gain'd from Heav'n ('t was all he wish'd) a friend._

_No farther seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,

(There they alike in trembling hope repose,)

The bosom of his Father and his God._

THOMAS GRAY.

_Polonius to Laertes_

And these few precepts in thy memory

Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue

Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.

Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar

The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,

Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;

But do not dull thy palm with entertainment

Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware

Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,

Bear't, that th' opposer may beware of thee.

Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice;

Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.

Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,

But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy:

For the apparel oft proclaims the man;

And they in France, of the best rank and station,

Are of a most select and generous choice in that.

Neither a borrower, nor a lender be;

For loan oft loses both itself and friend,

And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.

This above all,--to thine own self be true;

And it must follow, as the night the day,

Thou canst not then be false to any man.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

_From "Hamlet."_

_The Olive Tree_

Said an ancient hermit, bending

Half in prayer upon his knee,

"Oil I need for midnight watching,

I desire an olive tree."

Then he took a tender sapling,

Planted it before his cave,

Spread his trembling hands above it,

As his benison he gave.

But he thought, the rain it needeth,

That the root may drink and swell;

"God! I pray Thee send Thy showers!"

So a gentle shower fell.

"Lord, I ask for beams of summer,

Cherishing this little child."

Then the dripping clouds divided,

And the sun looked down and smiled.

"Send it frost to brace its tissues,

O my God!" the hermit cried.

Then the plant was bright and hoary,

But at evensong it died.

Went the hermit to a brother

Sitting in his rocky cell:

"Thou an olive tree possessest;

How is this, my brother, tell?

"I have planted one, and prayed,

Now for sunshine, now for rain;

God hath granted each petition,

Yet my olive tree hath slain!"

Said the other, "I entrusted

To its God my little tree;

He who made knew what it needed,

Better than a man like me.

"Laid I on him no condition,

Fixed no ways and means; so I

Wonder not my olive thriveth,

Whilst thy olive tree did die."

SABINE BARING-GOULD.

_Coronation_

At the king's gate the subtle noon

Wove filmy yellow nets of sun;

Into the drowsy snare too soon

The guards fell one by one.

Through the king's gate, unquestioned then,

A beggar went, and laughed, "This brings

Me chance, at last, to see if men

Fare better, being kings."

The king sat bowed beneath his crown,

Propping his face with listless hand;

Watching the hour-glass sifting down

Too slow its shining sand.

"Poor man, what wouldst thou have of me?"

The beggar turned, and pitying,

Replied, like one in dream, "Of thee,

Nothing. I want the king."

Uprose the king, and from his head

Shook off the crown, and threw it by.

"O man! thou must have known," he said,

"A greater king than I."

Through all the gates, unquestioned then,

Went king and beggar hand in hand.

Whispered the king, "Shall I know when

Before _his_ throne I stand?"

The beggar laughed. Free winds in haste

Were wiping from the king's hot brow

The crimson lines the crown had traced.

"This is his presence now."

At the king's gate, the crafty noon

Unwove its yellow nets of sun;

Out of their sleep in terror soon

The guards waked one by one.

"Ho there! Ho there! Has no man seen

The king?" The cry ran to and fro;

Beggar and king, they laughed, I ween,

The laugh that free men know.

On the king's gate the moss grew gray;

The king came not. They called him dead;

And made his eldest son one day

Slave in his father's stead.

H. H.

_December_

In a drear-nighted December,

Too happy, happy tree,

Thy branches ne'er remember

Their green felicity:

The north cannot undo them,

With a sleety whistle through them;

Nor frozen thawings glue them

From budding at the prime.

In a drear-nighted December,

Too happy, happy brook,

Thy bubblings ne'er remember

Apollo's summer look;

But with a sweet forgetting,

They stay their crystal fretting,

Never, never petting

About the frozen time.

Ah! would 'twere so with many

A gentle girl and boy!

But were there ever any

Writhed not at passed joy?

To know the change and feel it,

When there is none to heal it,

Nor numbed sense to steal it,

Was never said in rhyme.

JOHN KEATS.

_The End of the Play_

The play is done; the curtain drops,

Slow falling to the prompter's bell:

A moment yet the actor stops,

And looks around, to say farewell.

It is an irksome word and task;

And, when he's laughed and said his say,

He shows, as he removes the mask,

A face that's anything but gay.

One word, ere yet the evening ends,

Let's close it with a parting rhyme,

And pledge a hand to all young friends,

As fits the merry Christmas time.

On life's wide scenes you, too, have parts,

That Fate ere long shall bid you play;

Good-night! with honest gentle hearts

A kindly greeting go alway!

* * * *

Come wealth or want, come good or ill,

Let young and old accept their part,

And bow before the Awful Will,

And bear it with ah honest heart.

Who misses, or who wins the prize?

Go, lose or conquer as you can:

But if you fail, or if you rise,

Be each, pray God, a gentleman.

A gentleman, or old or young!

(Bear kindly with my humble lays;)

The sacred chorus first was sung

Upon the first of Christmas days:

The shepherds heard it overhead--

The joyful angels raised it then:

Glory to Heaven on high, it said,

And peace on earth to gentle men.

My song, save this, is little worth;

I lay the weary pen aside,

And wish you health, and love, and mirth,

As fits the solemn Christmas-tide.

As fits the holy Christmas birth,

Be this, good friends, our carol still--

Be peace on earth, be peace on earth,

To men of gentle will.

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.

_From "Dr. Birch and his Young Friends."_

_A Farewell_

My fairest child, I have no song to give you;

No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray;

Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you

For every day.

* * * *

Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever;

Do noble things, not dream them, all day long:

And so make life, death, and that vast forever

One grand, sweet song.

CHARLES KINGSLEY.

_A Boy's Prayer_

God who created me

Nimble and light of limb,

In three elements free,

To run, to ride, to swim:

Not when the sense is dim,

But now from the heart of joy,

I would remember Him:

Take the thanks of a boy.

* * * *

HENRY CHARLES BEECHING.

_Chartless_

I never saw a moor,

I never saw the sea;

Yet know I how the heather looks,

And what a wave must be.

I never spoke with God,

Nor visited in heaven;

Yet certain am I of the spot

As if the chart were given.

EMILY DICKINSON.

_Peace_

My soul, there is a country,

Afar beyond the stars,

Where stands a winged sentry,

All skilful in the wars.

There, above noise and danger,

Sweet Peace sits crowned with smiles,

And One born in a manger

Commands the beauteous files.

He is thy gracious friend,

And (O my soul, awake!)

Did in pure love descend,

To die here for thy sake.

If thou canst get but thither,

There grows the flower of peace,

The rose that cannot wither,

Thy fortress, and thy ease.

Leave then thy foolish ranges;

For none can thee secure,

But One who never changes,

Thy God, thy Life, thy Cure.

HENRY VAUGHAN.

_Consider_

Consider

The lilies of the field, whose bloom is brief--

We are as they;

Like them we fade away,

As doth a leaf.

Consider

The sparrows of the air, of small account:

Our God doth view

Whether they fall or mount--

He guards us too.

Consider

The lilies, that do neither spin nor toil,

Yet are most fair--

What profits all this care,

And all this coil?

Consider

The birds, that have no barn nor harvest-weeks;

God gives them food--

Much more our Father seeks

To do us good.

CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI.

_The Elixir_

Teach me, my God and King,

In all things Thee to see,

And what I do in anything,

To do it as for Thee.

* * * *

All may of Thee partake:

Nothing can be so mean

Which with this tincture (for Thy sake)

Will not grow bright and clean.

A servant with this clause

Makes drudgery divine:

Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws,

Makes that and th' action fine.

This is the famous stone

That turneth all to gold;

For that which God doth touch and own

Cannot for less be told.

GEORGE HERBERT.

_One by One_

One by one the sands are flowing,

One by one the moments fall;

Some are coming, some are going;

Do not strive to grasp them all.

One by one thy duties wait thee--

Let thy whole strength go to each,

Let no future dreams elate thee,

Learn thou first what these can teach.

One by one (bright gifts from heaven)

Joys are sent thee here below;

Take them readily when given--

Ready, too, to let them go.

One by one thy griefs shall meet thee;

Do not fear an armed band;

One will fade as others greet thee--

Shadows passing through the land.

Do not look at life's long sorrow;

See how small each moment's pain;

God will help thee for to-morrow,

So each day begin again.

Every hour that fleets so slowly

Has its task to do or bear;

Luminous the crown, and holy,

When each gem is set with care.

Do not linger with regretting,

Or for passing hours despond;

Nor, thy daily toil forgetting,

Look too eagerly beyond.

Hours are golden links, God's token,

Reaching heaven; but, one by one,

Take them, lest the chain be broken

Ere the pilgrimage be done.

ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER.

_The Commonwealth of the Bees_

(Type of a Well-ordered State.)

For government, though high, and low, and lower,

Put into parts, doth keep in one consent,

Congreeing in a full and natural close,

Like music.

Therefore doth heaven divide

The state of man in divers functions,

Setting endeavor in continual motion;

To which is fixed, as an aim or butt,

Obedience; for so work the honey-bees,

Creatures that, by a rule in nature, teach

The art of order to a peopled kingdom:

They have a king and officers of state,

Where some, like magistrates, correct at home,

Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad,

Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings,

Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds;

Which pillage they with merry march bring home

To the tent-royal of their emperor;

Who, busied in his majesty, surveys

The singing masons building roofs of gold,

The civil citizens kneading up the honey,

The poor mechanic porters crowding in

Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate;

The sad-eyed Justice, with his surly hum,

Delivering o'er to executors pale

The lazy, yawning drone.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

_From "King Henry V."_

_The Pilgrim_

Who would true valor see

Let him come hither!

One here will constant be,

Come wind, come weather:

There's no discouragement

Shall make him once relent

His first-avow'd intent

To be a Pilgrim.

Whoso beset him round

With dismal stories,

Do but themselves confound;

His strength the more is.

No lion can him fright;

He'll with a giant fight;

But he will have a right

To be a Pilgrim.

Nor enemy, nor fiend,

Can daunt his spirit;

He knows he at the end

Shall Life inherit:--

Then, fancies, fly away;

He'll not fear what men say;

He'll labor, night and day,

To be a Pilgrim.

JOHN BUNYAN.

_Be Useful_

Be useful where thou livest, that they may

Both want and wish thy pleasing presence still.

----Find out men's wants and will,

And meet them there. All worldly joys go less

To the one joy of doing kindnesses.

GEORGE HERBERT.

INTERLEAVES

_The Glad Evangel_

When the Child of Nazareth was born, the sun, according to the Bosnian

legend, "leaped in the heavens, and the stars around it danced. A peace

came over mountain and forest. Even the rotten stump stood straight and

healthy on the green hill-side. The grass was beflowered with open

blossoms, incense sweet as myrrh pervaded upland and forest, birds sang

on the mountain top, and all gave thanks to the great God."

It is naught but an old folk-tale, but it has truth hidden at its heart,

for a strange, subtle force, a spirit of genial good-will, a new-born

kindness, seem to animate child and man alike when the world pays its

tribute to the "heaven-sent youngling," as the poet Drummond calls the

infant Christ.

When the Three Wise Men rode from the East into the West on that "first,

best Christmas night," they bore on their saddle-bows three caskets

filled with gold and frankincense and myrrh, to be laid at the feet of

the manger-cradled babe of Bethlehem. Beginning with this old, old

journey, the spirit of giving crept into the world's heart. As the Magi

came bearing gifts, so do we also; gifts that relieve want, gifts that

are sweet and fragrant with friendship, gifts that breathe love, gifts

that mean service, gifts inspired still by the star that shone over the

City of David nearly two thousand years ago.

Then hang the green coronet of the Christmas-tree with glittering

baubles and jewels of flame; heap offerings on its emerald branches;

bring the Yule log to the firing; deck the house with holly and

mistletoe,

_"And all the bells on earth shall ring

On Christmas day in the morning."_

XVII

THE GLAD EVANGEL

_A Christmas Carol_[24]

There's a song in the air!

There's a star in the sky!

There's a mother's deep prayer

And a baby's low cry!

And the star rains its fire while the Beautiful sing,

For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a king.

There's a tumult of joy

O'er the wonderful birth,

For the virgin's sweet boy

Is the Lord of the earth,

Ay! the star rains its fire and the Beautiful sing,

For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a king!

In the light of that star

Lie the ages impearled;

And that song from afar

Has swept over the world.

Every hearth is aflame, and the Beautiful sing

In the homes of the nations that Jesus is king.

We rejoice in the light,

And we echo the song

That comes down through the night

From the heavenly throng.

Ay! we shout to the lovely evangel they bring,

And we greet in his cradle our Saviour and King!

JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND.

[Footnote 24: _From "The Poetical Works of J. G. Holland." Copyright,

1881, by Charles Scribner's Sons._]

_The Angels_

Run, shepherds, run where Bethlehem blest appears.

We bring the best of news; be not dismayed:

A Saviour there is born more old than years,

Amidst heaven's rolling height this earth who stayed.

In a poor cottage inned, a virgin maid,

A weakling did him bear, who all upbears;

There is he poorly swaddled, in manger laid,

To whom too narrow swaddlings are our spheres:

Run, shepherds, run, and solemnize his birth.

This is that night--no, day, grown great with bliss,

In which the power of Satan broken is:

In heaven be glory, peace unto the earth!

Thus singing, through the air the angels swam,

And cope of stars re-echoed the same.

WILLIAM DRUMMOND.

"_While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night"_

Like small curled feathers, white and soft,

The little clouds went by,

Across the moon, and past the stars,

And down the western sky:

In upland pastures, where the grass

With frosted dew was white,

Like snowy clouds the young sheep lay,

That first, best Christmas night.

The shepherds slept; and, glimmering faint,

With twist of thin, blue smoke,

Only their fire's crackling flames

The tender silence broke--

Save when a young lamb raised his head,

Or, when the night wind blew,

A nesting bird would softly stir,

Where dusky olives grew--

With finger on her solemn lip,

Night hushed the shadowy earth,

And only stars and angels saw

The little Saviour's birth;

Then came such flash of silver light

Across the bending skies,

The wondering shepherds woke, and hid

Their frightened, dazzled eyes!

And all their gentle sleepy flock

Looked up, then slept again,

Nor knew the light that dimmed the stars

Brought endless Peace to men--

Nor even heard the gracious words

That down the ages ring--

"The Christ is born! the Lord has come,

Good-will on earth to bring!"

Then o'er the moonlit, misty fields,

Dumb with the world's great joy,

The shepherds sought the white-walled town,

Where lay the baby boy--

And oh, the gladness of the world,

The glory of the skies,

Because the longed-for Christ looked up

In Mary's happy eyes!

MARGARET DELAND.

_The Star Song_

Tell us, thou clear and heavenly tongue,

Where is the Babe but lately sprung?

Lies he the lily-banks among?

Or say, if this new Birth of ours

Sleeps, laid within some ark of flowers,

Spangled with dew-light; thou canst clear

All doubts, and manifest the where.

Declare to us, bright star, if we shall seek

Him in the morning's blushing cheek,

Or search the beds of spices through,

To find him out?

_Star._--No, this ye need not do;

But only come and see Him rest,

A princely babe, in's mother's breast.

ROBERT HERRICK.

_Hymn for Christmas_

Oh! lovely voices of the sky

Which hymned the Saviour's birth,

Are ye not singing still on high,

Ye that sang, "Peace on earth"?

To us yet speak the strains

Wherewith, in time gone by,

Ye blessed the Syrian swains,

Oh! voices of the sky!

Oh! clear and shining light, whose beams

That hour Heaven's glory shed,

Around the palms, and o'er the streams,

And on the shepherd's head.

Be near, through life and death,

As in that holiest night

Of hope, and joy, and faith--

Oh! clear and shining light!

* * * *

FELICIA HEMANS.

_New Prince, New Pomp_

Behold a simple, tender Babe,

In freezing winter night,

In homely manger trembling lies;

Alas! a piteous sight.

The inns are full; no man will yield

This little Pilgrim bed;

But forced he is with silly beasts

In crib to shroud his head.

Despise him not for lying there;

First what he is inquire:

An Orient pearl is often found

In depth of dirty mire.

Weigh not his crib, his wooden dish,

Nor beasts that by him feed;

Weigh not his mother's poor attire,

Nor Joseph's simple weed.

This stable is a Prince's court,

The crib his chair of state;

The beasts are parcel of his pomp,

The wooden dish his plate.

The persons in that poor attire

His royal liveries wear;

The Prince himself is come from heaven:

This pomp is praised there.

With joy approach, O Christian wight!

Do homage to thy King;

And highly praise this humble pomp,

Which he from heaven doth bring.

ROBERT SOUTHWELL.

_The Three Kings_

Three Kings came riding from far away,

Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar;

Three Wise Men out of the East were they,

And they travelled by night and they slept by day,

For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star.

The star was so beautiful, large and clear,

That all the other stars of the sky

Became a white mist in the atmosphere;

And by this they knew that the coming was near

Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy.

Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows,

Three caskets of gold with golden keys;

Their robes were of crimson silk, with rows

Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows,

Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees.

And so the Three Kings rode into the West,

Through the dusk of night over hills and dells,

And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast,

And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest,

With the people they met at the wayside wells.

"Of the child that is born," said Baltasar,

"Good people, I pray you, tell us the news;

For we in the East have seen his star,

And have ridden fast, and have ridden far,

To find and worship the King of the Jews."

And the people answered, "You ask in vain;

We know of no king but Herod the Great!"

They thought the Wise Men were men insane,

As they spurred their horses across the plain

Like riders in haste who cannot wait.

And when they came to Jerusalem,

Herod the Great, who had heard this thing,

Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them;

And said, "Go down unto Bethlehem,

And bring me tidings of this new king."

So they rode away, and the star stood still,

The only one in the gray of morn;

Yes, it stopped, it stood still of its own free will,

Right over Bethlehem on the hill,

The city of David where Christ was born.

And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard,

Through the silent street, till their horses turned

And neighed as they entered the great inn-yard;

But the windows were closed, and the doors were barred,

And only a light in the stable burned.

And cradled there in the scented hay,

In the air made sweet by the breath of kine,

The little child in the manger lay,

The Child that would be King one day

Of a kingdom not human, but divine.

His mother, Mary of Nazareth,

Sat watching beside his place of rest,

Watching the even flow of his breath,

For the joy of life and the terror of death

Were mingled together in her breast.

They laid their offerings at his feet:

The gold was their tribute to a King;

The frankincense, with its odor sweet,

Was for the Priest, the Paraclete;

The myrrh for the body's burying.

And the mother wondered and bowed her head,

And sat as still as a statue of stone;

Her heart was troubled yet comforted,

Remembering what the angel had said

Of an endless reign and of David's throne.

Then the Kings rode out of the city gate,

With a clatter of hoofs in proud array;

But they went not back to Herod the Great,

For they knew his malice and feared his hate,

And returned to their homes by another way.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

_The Three Kings_[25]

From out Cologne there came three kings

To worship Jesus Christ, their King;

To him they sought fine herbs they brought

And many a beauteous golden thing;

They brought their gifts to Bethlehem town

And in that manger set them down.

Then spake the first king, and he said:

"O Child most heavenly, bright and fair,

I bring this crown to Bethlehem town

For Thee, and only Thee, to wear;

So give a heavenly crown to me

When I shall come at last to Thee."

The second then: "I bring thee here

This royal robe, O Child!" he cried;

"Of silk 'tis spun and such an one

There is not in the world beside!

So in the day of doom requite

Me with a heavenly robe of white!"

The third king gave his gift, and quoth:

"Spikenard and myrrh to Thee I bring,

And with these twain would I most fain

Anoint the body of my King.

So may their incense some time rise

To plead for me in yonder skies."

Thus spake the three kings of Cologne

That gave their gifts and went their way;

And now kneel I in prayer hard-by

The cradle of the Child to-day;

Nor crown, nor robe, nor spice I bring

As offering unto Christ my King.

Yet have I brought a gift the Child

May not despise, however small;

For here I lay my heart to-day,

And it is fun of love to all!

Take Thou the poor, but loyal thing,

My only tribute, Christ, my King.

EUGENE FIELD.

[Footnote 25: _From "With Trumpet and Drum" by Eugene Field Copyright,

1892, by Charles Scribner's Sons._]

_A Christmas Hymn_

It was the calm and silent night!

Seven hundred years and fifty-three

Had Rome been growing up to might,

And now was queen of land and sea.

No sound was heard of clashing wars--

Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain:

Apollo, Pallas, Jove and Mars

Held undisturbed their ancient reign,

In the solemn midnight,

Centuries ago.

'Twas in the calm and silent night!

The senator of haughty Rome,

Impatient, urged his chariot's flight,

From lordly revel rolling home;

Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell

His breast with thoughts of boundless sway;

What recked the Roman what befell

A paltry province far away,

In the solemn midnight,

Centuries ago?

Within that province far away

Went plodding home a weary boor;

A streak of light before him lay,

Falling through a half-shut stable-door

Across his path. He passed--for naught

Told what was going on within;

How keen the stars, his only thought--

The air how calm, and cold, and thin,

In the solemn midnight,

Centuries ago!

Oh, strange indifference! low and high

Drowsed over common joys and cares;

The earth was still--but knew not why,

The world was listening, unawares.

How calm a moment may precede

One that shall thrill the world for ever!

To that still moment, none would heed,

Man's doom was linked no more to sever--

In the solemn midnight,

Centuries ago!

It is the calm and solemn night!

A thousand bells ring out, and throw

Their joyous peals abroad, and smite

The darkness--charmed and holy now!

The night that erst no name had worn,

To it a happy name is given;

For in that stable lay, new-born,

The peaceful prince of earth and heaven,

In the solemn midnight,

Centuries ago!

ALFRED DOMMETT.

_O Little Town of Bethlehem_

O little town of Bethlehem,

How still we see thee lie!

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep

The silent stars go by;

Yet in thy dark streets shineth

The everlasting Light;

The hopes and fears of all the years

Are met in thee to-night.

For Christ is born of Mary,

And, gathered all above,

While mortals sleep, the angels keep

Their watch of wondering love.

O morning stars, together

Proclaim the holy birth!

And praises sing to God the King,

And peace to men on earth.

How silently, how silently,

The wondrous gift is given!

So God imparts to human hearts

The blessings of His heaven.

No ear may hear His coming,

But in this world of sin,

Where meek souls will receive Him still,

The dear Christ enters in.

O holy Child of Bethlehem!

Descend to us, we pray;

Cast out our sin, and enter in,

Be born in us to-day.

We hear the Christmas angels

The great glad tidings tell;

Oh, come to us, abide with us,

Our Lord Emmanuel!

PHILLIPS BROOKS.

_While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night_

While shepherds watched their flocks by night,

All seated on the ground,

The angel of the Lord came down,

And glory shone around.

"Fear not," said he, for mighty dread

Had seized their troubled mind;

"Glad tidings of great joy I bring

To you and all mankind.

"To you, in David's town, this day

Is born, of David's line,

The Saviour, who is Christ the Lord,

And this shall be the sign:

"The heavenly babe you there shall find

To human view displayed,

All meanly wrapped in swaddling bands,

And in a manger laid."

Thus spake the seraph; and forthwith

Appeared a shining throng

Of angels, praising God, who thus

Addressed their joyful song:

"All glory be to God on high,

And to the earth be peace;

Good will henceforth from Heaven to men

Begin and never cease."

NAHUM TATE.

_Christmas Carol_

As Joseph was a-walking,

He heard an angel sing,

"This night shall be the birthnight

Of Christ our heavenly King.

"His birth-bed shall be neither

In housen nor in hall,

Nor in the place of paradise,

But in the oxen's stall.

"He neither shall be rocked

In silver nor in gold,

But in the wooden manger

That lieth in the mould.

"He neither shall be washen

With white wine nor with red,

But with the fair spring water

That on you shall be shed.

"He neither shall be clothed

In purple nor in pall,

But in the fair, white linen

That usen babies all."

As Joseph was a-walking,

Thus did the angel sing,

And Mary's son at midnight

Was born to be our King.

Then be you glad, good people,

At this time of the year;

And light you up your candles,

For His star it shineth clear.

OLD ENGLISH.

_Old Christmas_

Now he who knows old Christmas,

He knows a carle of worth;

For he is as good a fellow

As any upon earth.

He comes warm cloaked and coated,

And buttoned up to the chin,

And soon as he comes a-nigh the door

We open and let him in.

We know that he will not fail us,

So we sweep the hearth up clean;

We set him in the old arm-chair,

And a cushion whereon to lean.

And with sprigs of holly and ivy

We make the house look gay,

Just out of an old regard to him,

For it was his ancient way.

* * * *

He must be a rich old fellow:

What money he gives away!

There is not a lord in England

Could equal him any day.

Good luck unto old Christmas,

And long life, let us sing,

For he doth more good unto the poor

Than many a crowned king!

MARY HOWITT.

_God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen_

God rest ye, merry gentlemen; let nothing you dismay,

For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.

The dawn rose red o'er Bethlehem, the stars shone through the gray,

When Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.

God rest ye, little children; let nothing you affright,

For Jesus Christ, your Saviour, was born this happy night;

Along the hills of Galilee the white flocks sleeping lay,

When Christ, the child of Nazareth, was born on Christmas-day.

God rest ye, all good Christians; upon this blessed morn

The Lord of all good Christians was of a woman born:

Now all your sorrows He doth heal, your sins He takes away;

For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.

DINAH MARIA MULOCK.

_Minstrels and Maids_

Outlanders, whence come ye last?

_The snow in the street and the wind on the door._

Through what green seas and great have ye past?